


little apologies

by orphan_account



Series: shimadacest week 2017 [1]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-09
Updated: 2017-01-09
Packaged: 2018-09-15 18:54:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,032
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9251273
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: It's just the two of them in the training yard this early, shadows long in the weak light of the predawn. Not so long ago, it would have been Genji alone, and though his brother has been a part of this routine for nearly two months, now, his presence still has the thrill of novelty to it.(sometimes the most important moments are the quietest)





	

**Author's Note:**

> day one: forgiveness/reconciliation

It's just the two of them in the training yard this early, shadows long in the weak light of the predawn. Not so long ago, it would have been Genji alone, and though his brother has been a part of this routine for nearly two months, now, his presence still has the thrill of novelty to it. Hanzo stamps and huffs in the lingering morning chill, shaking off a sleep Genji no longer technically needs, a cold he no longer registers beyond two blinking digits in the corner of his visor's feed.

“Trouble waking up, anija?” Genji teases, stretching lazily.

Hanzo grunts in response. “I am hardly a stranger to early hours,” he scoffs.

Genji laughs. Given time, Hanzo has proven himself capable of taking most of Genji's surprises—his survival, his altered form, his involvement with Overwatch—in impressive stride, but the fact that his brother has become a _morning person_ somehow continues to throw him. It's _hilarious_.

“Yeah, yeah,” Genji allows, patting Hanzo's bare shoulder as he breezes past. He doesn't turn for the reaction; he's learning from his mistakes, these days, or trying to, and he doesn't want to see the way Hanzo is stilling, expression seizing in guilt at the fondness in Genji's voice. He crosses the yard in smooth, efficient strides, like he can outrun the fraught silence settling between them.

 _Time and space,_ he tells himself, typing in the security code on the storage shed. _Time and space._

The quiver of practice arrows is already starting to show wear, nearly all of them scuffed or cracked from rigorous use. Genji thumbs the blunted edge of one idly as he tucks the rest under his arm; it had been a hard-line condition of their use, and a reasonable one, though he knows Hanzo had been more than a little insulted by the insinuation that dulling his arrows made him harmless.

“Yo, Hanzo, think fast!”

One long motion: Storm Bow arcs out from it's place at Hanzo's back, bright and cruel, Hanzo snatches the arrow Genji darts at him clean from the air, nocks it, readies his aim. Almost smiles.

And just like that, they're off.

The first shot goes well wide, pinging off the facade of the storage shed. Genji is already in motion, the giddy burn of laughter rising up from his chest. In his periphery, Hanzo dives toward the now-abandoned quiver, and he feels the breath of the next arrow as it whizzes past. Skidding briefly on the hard-packed dirt, Genji changes direction, vaults over the tattered pommel horse near the courtyard's heart. Arrows spring up behind him in a neat line.

It had been a fight to get this much approved. The general distrust most of Genji's teammates have towards Hanzo—well, he can't say it's entirely unfounded, but his insistence spoke louder than their unease, and eventually even the most stubborn of them had relented to at least one of his arguments. Unsurprisingly, McCree had been among the last of the holdouts. For the better part of three weeks, the cowboy had shown up every morning without fail to slouch in the doorway, all casual smiles and shrugs and friendly chatter, and an expression flat and sharp as a hawk's whenever he didn't think Hanzo was looking.

While they spar, the sun rises, lending the world a hazy, rosy air. Hanzo circles back along the far edge of the yard, following the length of it hemmed by steep, craggy cliffs. The horizon beyond him is all water, gleaming like seaglass, and against it Hanzo's silhouette is stark and ethereal.

Genji pauses a moment too long, taking it in. There's a quiet _thunk_ of a sound, and an arrow blooms from his shoulder.

 _Well, shit,_ thinks Genji, and laughs.

“What are you _doing_?” Anger carves Hanzo's face into something harsh.

“Getting shot, it would seem.” Genji laughs again as Hanzo storms up into his personal space, curls his fingers around Genji's uninjured shoulder.

“This is not a time for your jokes,” Hanzo snaps, scowling. “Why were you not paying attention?”

“Relax, Hanzo—look, it's fine, really—”Genji reaches up, snaps the fletching off the arrow and pulls it free. By now, his body has isolated most of the damaged systems; a slow, thick ooze of dark liquid replaces any more dangerous fluid loss.

“See? Barely a scratch.”

Hanzo frowns. “It does not hurt?”

“I've had worse.” Genji says it without thinking.

Tension tightens Hanzo's fingers, shatters its way through him until his whole body is taut with it. The moment hangs between them, a palpable thing that sits cold in Genji's stomach, between Hanzo's hunched shoulders. Genji's tongue is heavy in his mouth.

Slowly, Hanzo bends his forehead to Genji's shoulder. He inhales sharply, stuttering, and Genji realizes that he's crying.

“Uh,” he says awkwardly, “hey, now, don't—“

Hanzo catches the hand Genji reaches toward him. His eyes are still bright with tears, but his expression has been carefully schooled into something Genji can't quite read. He traces a thumb across the back of Genji's hand, turns his face and presses his lips to Genji's palm. Genji feels it like a current of electricity.

“Forgive me.” Hanzo's voice is rough and quiet with uncertainty.

Genji clenches and unclenches his hand, shrugs, tilts his head to better catch his brother's gaze.

“Done,” he says.

For a moment, it seems as though Hanzo is about to cry, again. He glances away, mouth tightening.

“I assume our sparring sessions will be discontinued after today.”

Genji leans forward, taps the front of his visor against Hanzo's temple.

“Nah, accidents happen. Everyone will understand.” He pauses, considering. “Angela might still try to take a bite out of you for it, though.”

“That is a far more frightening thought than what I had in mind,” says Hanzo, frowning.

“Hanzo!” Genji pulls back, crowing in delight. “That was a joke!”

Hanzo's answering smile is small, his whole face is softened by it.

“Not entirely.”

Relief floods through Genji, heady and warm, as he pours himself bonelessly around his brother's frame, laughing. Hanzo presses another kiss to the spread of his collarbone, the side of his neck. Genji can feel him smiling.

 

**Author's Note:**

> feel free to come talk to me on tumblr at shimadacestinc!


End file.
